


Don't Go Quietly

by Anonymous



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Kinda, No One Has A Functioning Moral Compass, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You’re a traitor,” Clary says. “And probably a liar too.”“If I was ever a liar,” Maryse Lightwood says without heat, “then it was only because Valentine Morgenstern made me one.” She crosses the cell until she’s in front of Clary. “As for being a traitor, I suppose from Valentine’s point of view I am. Of course, from my point of view, Valentine is the worst kind of betrayer. So I suppose we’ll just agree to disagree.”





	Don't Go Quietly

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently no one has used the Maryse/Clary tag before and I gotta tell you Shadowhunters Fandom, I Am Disappointed In You.
> 
> I'm serious about the Dubious Consent tag. It's a feature, not a bug. Don't read this if that's going to bother you.

It’s the cold that bothers Clary the most.

She was dressed for clubbing when they caught her, in a tank top with a plunging neckline and a short skirt that’s only barely decent. It was fine in the crowded nightclub where the exchange was supposed to take place, but here in the cells below the New York Institute her bare arms and legs prickle with goosebumps and the cold seeps into her bones. Her bare feet are planted and chained to the cold floor. They took her shoes when they locked her up. Clary grudgingly has to give those Lightwood brats credit: they’re not as useless as her father thought. All of Clary’s heels are tipped with adamas and are just as much a weapon as her blade.

And they managed to catch her.

They had put a bag over her head when they brought her in. It doesn’t stop her from knowing where she is, but she doesn’t know if they managed to get Jonathan too or if he got away. She’ll have to figure that out before she escapes.

Noise from outside makes Clary tense, then deliberately relax. She can’t move much with her feet chained to the floor and her wrists cuffed together in front of her and attached to a ring on the floor, but she turns her head to the door in time to see Inquisitor Herondale walk in. She’s flanked by her unbearably blond grandson and a curly haired man she doesn’t recognize.

The Inquisitor stops directly in front of Clary, but just out of arm’s reach, were Clary able to move her arms. Clary can’t decide if she appreciates the fear or is annoyed by the caution. People tend to underestimate Clary. She tends to kill those people pretty quickly.

“Miss Morgenstern,” the Inquisitor says, “this can be easy for you, or it can be hard. The choice is up to you.” Then she waits and waits.

Finally Clary says, “Oh, did you want me to answer now?” The Inquisitor inclines her head. “Sorry, you don’t actually get a choice. It’s only going to be hard for you.” They didn’t really think she’d give in that easy, did they? She’s a Morgenstern for fuck’s sake.

The pleased gleam in the Inquisitor’s eye tells her they didn’t.

The Inquisitor makes a small motion with her hand and her grandson unsheathes his seraph blade in a lightning fast motion to hold it at Clary’s throat. Clary grins at him and leans forward until the point is touching her skin. The boy’s eyes widen, but to his credit, he doesn’t move.

The Inquisitor walks briskly behind Clary and pulls up the back of her shirt. Clary can’t help but tense at the feel of a stele against her skin. She braces for the agony, but it doesn’t come. She only feels the burn of a rune. Clary is exceptionally good with runes, but she doesn’t recognize this one, and she doesn’t feel any immediate effects. The Inquisitor drops her shirt back down and steps back out in front of Clary. The grandson drops the blade and steps back as well.

The Inquisitor looks her up and down. “We’ll be back,” she says, finally. She walks out, and the men follow her.

Alone again in her cell Clary clamps down on the urge to fidget. They’re probably watching her. The front of the cell is mirrored glass, probably a one way mirror. Whatever the rune they put on her does, they’ll want to be watching to see when it starts working.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, seeking stillness in her body no matter how uncomfortable she is. Then she starts to think about how she’s going to get out of here.

* * *

The first indication that the rune is working is when Clary realizes she isn’t cold anymore.

It takes her a while to notice because she had tried to sink deep enough into her mind that the cold didn’t bother her and she thought she succeeded. She resurfaces because the back of her neck prickles with sweat. It’s possible they turned up the heat, but she doubts it. No, the cold was almost definitely a long term tactic to break her, and besides, the floor is still cold beneath her feet.

The heat increases until she can feel her cheeks flush and she needs to open her mouth to pant a little bit. There’s a restlessness crawling up her spine that makes her want to fidget in her chains. Her nipples tighten, suddenly sensitive against the fabric of her top. She takes a deep breath and tries to force her mind back into calmness, but her body is too loud and restless. She gives in to the temptation to roll her shoulders and rock back and forth on her feet. The cool floor feels good now, the only relief to the heat. She would kill someone to be able to lift the hair from her neck.

She’s startled by her cell door opening. She must have been distracted not to hear the lock turning. That’s dangerous.

“You can go now,” a woman’s voice says. “I’ll handle it from here.”

“But ma’am -”

“I said you’re dismissed,” the woman says in a hard voice, and the guards must obey because then she walks in.

She’s Clary’s dad’s age, or maybe a little younger, with brown hair falling to her shoulders. Her shoulders and upper arms are powerful in a way that speaks of blade training, probably a broad sword, or maybe a battleax. Her tight blue dress hugs all her curves, and even Clary is impressed with the height of her heels. She carries a small bag that she puts down just inside the door.

Here’s the one meant to torture her then.

But the woman just stands there, looking at Clary for long enough that it makes Clary uncomfortable. She’s still hot and she shakes her head to try and get a breeze on the back of her neck. 

“Clary Fairchild,” the woman says.

Clary frowns. “It’s Morgenstern.”

“You mother was a Fairchild,” the woman says. “She always wanted you to continue the name.”

“My mother abandoned me, so she doesn’t really get a say.”

The woman cocks her head to the side. “Is that what he told you?” Her tone is curious, sympathetic. Not condescending or pitying. It throws Clary off.

“Why would my father lie?”

“Because he killed her the night he kidnapped you.”

Clary swallows against her dry throat. She’s so thirsty, but knows that asking for water will do no good. “And how do you know so much?”

“Jocelyn and I were friends,” the woman says. “I’m Maryse Lightwood.”

Of course.

“You’re a traitor,” Clary says. “And probably a liar too.”

“If I was ever a liar,” Maryse Lightwood says without heat, “then it was only because Valentine Morgenstern made me one.” She crosses the cell until she’s in front of Clary. “As for being a traitor, I suppose from Valentine’s point of view I am. Of course, from my point of view, Valentine is the worst kind of betrayer. So I suppose we’ll just agree to disagree.”

Faster than Clary’s eyes can track, Maryse unhooks her wrists from where they’re chained to the floor, hauls them up and hooks them to a chain from the ceiling. The movement makes the heat in her body flare and Clary can’t help but make a small noise. She tries to bite it back immediately, but she knows Maryse heard it.

Maryse clearly has her speed, strength, and hearing runes activated. At the very least. Clary has none, and now she’s in a worse position, her arms stretched high above her head. She feels far more vulnerable this way, which she’s sure is the point.

“I guess it’s time for the torture now,” she says as blandly as possible.

Maryse says nothing, only walks back over the bag. She bends down and pulls something out. Clary can’t see what it is, and it’s apparently small enough to fit into Maryse’s hand.

When Maryse turns back around she says, “Of course we could try that. But you’re Valentine’s daughter and I know how he thinks. He’ll have trained you to withstand torture.” 

Clary inclines her head. “So it seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Maybe,” Maryse says. She takes a few steps closer to Clary. “Did he do it himself?”

“What?”

“Training you to resist torture. Did he do it himself?” Before Clary has a chance to answer, Maryse goes on. “He did for me. Strung me up and tortured me, and I thanked him for it. Because he told me he was helping me. He told me I was special. His favorite. Told me how important I was to his plans.” Maryse is close now, speaking lowly. “Is that what he told you too?”

“I _am_ special,” Clary says. “I’m his daughter.”

“Of course,” Maryse says, and it makes anger spark in Clary.

“I’m his daughter, and I can-” she cuts herself off. Clever. She almost revealed her abilities to this woman. She can only blame whatever rune they put on her. Usually she’s much more careful.

“Of course,” Maryse says again, this time sympathetically. “You think he wants you for what you can do. That’s what I used to think. That’s what Jocelyn used to think too.”

A drop of sweat slides down Clary’s spin., It doesn’t cool her, only makes her feel more restless. She blames the restlessness for the way she can’t ignore what Maryse is saying.

“What do you mean?”

“Has he picked one out for you yet? He must have, you’re already older than we were then.”

“Older than you were for what?”

“To be married, obviously,” Maryse says. “He convinced us all it was necessary. He convinced me that Robert Lightwood was an excellent match.” She laughs humorlessly. “Sometimes I think I’d be happy to kill him just for that.”

“No,” Clary says, but it’s faint. She’s remembering the oily feeling of eyes on her, hands on her, and the way her father just smiles approvingly. That can’t mean….

“He’ll want you pregnant as soon as possible. That’s what happened to us. To me and to Jocelyn and Celine and all the others. It doesn’t matter if it takes you out of the fight. Children mean his own personal army. His own personal experiments.”

The heat is making it hard to think, hard to come up with the rebuttal she normally would have.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to make me turn against my family,” she manages to say.

Maryse smiles, a small thing, but for the first time, it makes her look ruthless. “I’d be disappointed if I didn’t,” she says. She holds up what’s in her hand. It’s a small, egg-shaped thing, silver and smooth. Even when she presses something and it starts vibrating it doesn’t look like it can do much damage to Clary. Maryse reaches out and traces it lightly over Clary’s nipple.

Pleasure shoots through Clary, so sudden and so intense that she cries out.

Just as suddenly, the sensation is gone. Without thinking, Clary tries to follow Maryse’s hand with her body, only to be stopped by the chains.

“Wha-” she starts, then realizes. “The rune,” she says.

Maryse shrugs. The vibrator is still buzzing in her hand. “It won’t kill you. It won’t even harm you, physically. Though you might end up wishing it did.”

For the first time since she opened her eyes in this cell, Clary’s confidence falters. Her father taught her to withstand torture, it’s true. Taught her to withstand unimaginable pain. But Clary has no training on how to withstand _pleasure_, even pleasure she’s receiving unwillingly. Already her body yearns for another touch.

Maryse touches the vibrator to Clary’s other nipple, lightly, briefly, and still Clary feels herself leaning into it and she groans when Maryse takes it away.

She has to get a hold of herself.

“So, this is how you’re going to play it? No matter how unwilling I am? Isn’t the Clave supposed to be better than that?”

“Do you think Valentine asked before he stuck needles full of demon blood in Jocelyn’s pregnant belly?” Maryse’s eyes sharpen, but her voice remains kind. “I wonder what he’ll try with you? An experiment on an experiment. He must be so excited.”

Clary suppresses a shiver. 

“But I won’t hurt you,” Maryse continues. “I’m going to make you feel good. And you’re going to beg me for it.”

That’s where Maryse makes her mistake. Her mind clears a little from the haze of the rune. Because not even her father can outstubborn Clary and she’s just decided that she’ll die before begging Maryse Lightwood for anything. 

“I’m not going to give you anything,” Clary grits out.

Maryse just smiles. “We’ll see.” She reaches out a casually pulls a side of Clary’s tank top down, exposing her breast to the cool air of the cell. Just the faint brush of her fingers against Clary’s skin makes heat shoot to Clary’s core and burn there. Maryse repeats the gesture on the other side. 

Briefly, Clary wonders who’s on the other side of the glass watching her, chained up and tits out. She can’t even bring herself to care, too busy fighting a war with herself, half wanting Maryse to touch her again, and half telling herself she doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it.

Maryse runs a hand softly over the side of Clary’s breast, then circles her nipple with the tip of one finger. It stiffens further under her touch and Clary makes a small unwilling noise in the back of her throat.

“Valentine is a fool,” Maryse says, and before Clary can protest the insult to her father, she goes on. “He doesn’t know what an asset he has in you.”

“He knows,” Clary bites out.

Maryse trails her finger to Clary’s other nipple and gives it the same treatment. “He knows you’re powerful and talented, obviously. But if he truly valued you, he wouldn’t be sending you out on pointless missions and getting you caught.”

“Not-” Clary starts, then bites back the words.

“Not pointless?” Maryse asks. She pinches Clary’s nipple and Clary gasps and tilts her head back. She can feel herself getting wet. _Raziel._

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Maryse says. Clary makes herself look at Maryse again. She shouldn't be taking her eyes off her at all. “We shouldn’t have been able to catch you, Clary. Alec and Isabelle are good, of course. Very good. But you’re equally good and had the advantage of surprise and maneuverability.” While she speaks she absently brushes her thumb across Clary’s aching nipple. Clary can’t hold back her pants. It’s all she can do not to press into the contact.

“But whatever you were doing was risky, out in the open in hostile territory. Valentine knows he has few friends in the Downworld, while we have several key allies. Was it really important enough to expose his children?”

Maryse should know there’s no such thing as being sheltered in Valentine’s service, only proving yourself under increasing demands and decreasing odds of success. 

Maryse puts the vibrator against Clary’s nipple again. Clary jerks in her chains, her back bows. She tugs at where her ankles are chained to the floor, wanting to pull her legs together, put pressure there, but she can’t. Maryse leaves the vibrator until Clary jerks again, crying out, and then pulls it abruptly away.

“Plus, he burdened you with looking after Jonathan, who slowed you down, and allowed my children to capture you.”

Clary, still lost in heat and lust, barely registers what Maryse is saying. 

“If he knew what you were really capable of,” Maryse says, as she slides her hand down Clary’s side, over her waist, to her hip, “he wouldn’t be wasting you on milkruns.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Clary manages to get out. Clary’s hot all over, but Maryse’s hand is hotter, even through her clothes.

“No,” Maryse says, “I don’t.” Her hand slips down to Clary’s bare thigh and back up underneath her skirt. “But I’d love to find out, wouldn’t you?” She punctuates her question with a brush against Clary’s damp panties.

“Oh!” Clary says and tries to grind down onto her hand. Then nearly sobs when the chains don’t allow her to.

“You’re so wet already and we’ve barely started,” Maryse observes. “Do you want me to make you feel good?”

Clary bites down on her lip until she tastes blood to keep herself from answering, even as a part of her wonders why she’s bothering. She’s burning up, and with every touch, every breath against her skin, she burns hotter.

Maryse just shrugs when Clary doesn’t answer. “Okay then.”

She takes her hand out from under Clary’s skirt. She pops her finger into her mouth and sucks. It should look ridiculous, this well dressed woman, this Clave official sucking her own finger, but instead it makes Clary’s knees weak. It’s just as well she doesn’t actually need them to stand. 

Maryse removes her finger with a small pop and uses it to circle Clary’s nipple again.

Maryse said the rune wouldn’t kill her, but Clary is starting to wonder if she’ll get out of this with her sanity.

Maryse plays with Clary’s nipple until her finger is dry again. Then, instead of putting it back in her mouth, she holds it up to Clary’s.

Clary glares and presses her lips tightly together, but Maryse only smiles.

“Would Valentine punish you if you left your brother behind like he left you?” 

“He-” whatever Clary was about to say is stifled when Maryse takes the opportunity to shove two fingers into Clary’s mouth. Clary nearly chokes on them until Maryse pulls them back from her throat and she can switch to breathing through her nose. She glares at Maryse, but it doesn’t deter Maryse at all. She just strokes her fingers over Clary’s tongue, encouraging Clary to suck. Clary wants to, is the thing. But she also wants to bite Maryse’s fingers off, and she’s having a little trouble deciding which action to take.

“But that’s a silly question,” Maryse says. She moves her fingers in and out of Clary’s mouth as if Clary’s ambivalence doesn’t bother her. “You never would have left your brother behind. You’re only here because you held our team off while he got away.”

Maryse pulls her fingers from Clary’s mouth and Clary curls her tongue around them as they go, like she wants to keep them there. If Maryse notices (Maryse must notice) she doesn’t show it. She goes back to Clary’s nipple, rolling it between wet fingers until every breath Clary exhales is a soft moan.

“Even then, you almost got away. If my children weren’t exceptional, you wouldn’t be here right now.” Clary grits her teeth and quiets her moans. She doesn’t want to hear about Maryse’s exceptional fucking children who tied her up and put a bag over her head and threw her in the Institute’s cells. “They were impressed,” Maryse goes on. Her fingers don’t stop their work. “Well,” she amends, “Isabelle was impressed. I was impressed.”

“You weren’t there,” Clary says. She hates the way her voice sounds so breathy, but she’s also impressed with herself for being able to speak at all. Maryse stops what’s she’s doing to Clary’s nipple and Clary sighs. Whether it’s in protest or relief, she’s not even sure anymore.

“No, I wasn’t there,” Maryse says. She tucks a strand of Clary’s hair back behind her ear, then smooths over it. “But I had very thorough reports. They say you’re a natural and talented fighter.”

Clary doesn’t know what to say to that. She _is_ good. She had to be. But this is the first time someone else has told her that, not just _that was adequate, let’s move on to something more advanced._ And it’s coming from a traitor like Maryse Lightwood.

“You can’t flatter me into betraying my family,” Clary says. Maryse stops stroking Clary’s hair and Clary hates herself for missing it. It’s just the rune. Just the stupid fucking rune, messing with her body and with her mind. She has to be stronger than this.

“Do I look like I flatter people?”

Maryse looks like she does whatever it takes to get the job done. It’s exactly how Clary was trained too.

“It’s not flattery, it’s a tactical assessment,” Maryse says. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, we can go back to what we were doing before.”

Clary had lost track of Maryse’s hands while they were talking, which was a bad idea, because one of them is under her skirt again and Maryse’s thumb presses against her clit with her thumb.

“Fuck!” Clary screams. Waves of pleasure radiate from where Maryse is touching her, rubbing lightly over Clary’s clit. The chains rattle as Clary twists and tries to grind down into the touch. She’s going to come, she realizes. She’s chained up and being tortured and Maryse Lightwood is going to make her come.

As soon as Clary thinks it, Maryse stops. Her whole body stutters. She was so close. For a long moment the only sound is her harsh breaths. She can feel Maryse close to her, but not touching her anywhere. Fuck these chains, if only she could lean in just a little bit.

“I want to help you, Clary, I do,” Maryse says. “But you need to give me something first.”

“Bullshit,” Clary pants.

Maryse shrugs. “Alright.” 

The buzzing noise fills the air again. Shit, she forgot about the vibrator. This rune really is fucking with her.

Maryse lifts her skirt so she can see and touches the vibrator to Clary’s panties. She keeps the touches light and keeps from touching Clary’s clit directly, likely knowing that Clary would come the second she did. Clary doesn’t try to keep from moaning and swearing. She can’t. Every part of her is focused on those excruciating touches that feel so fucking good. That would feel even better if Maryse only put that thing where Clary needs it most.

Clary has no idea how long it goes on for, only that she’s cresting closer to orgasm even without Maryse touching her clit. Which is of course when Maryse stops again.

“No!” She cries. She can feel actual tears pooling in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. She’s going to kill Maryse Lightwood. After she gets her goddamn orgasm.

Maryse’s fingers brush away the tears on Clary’s cheeks. 

“I can stop this, Clary.”

“Fuck you,” Clary grits out.

“As you wish,” Maryse says. She leans down and sucks Clary’s nipple into her mouth. She bites down on it, gently, then harder, then, when Clary doesn’t think she can take anymore, the vibrator is back, dangerously close to her clit this time. She screams. The pleasure is so intense it’s almost pain and it all mixes together until she can’t tell them apart, and just when she thinks she’s going to fall over the edge, Maryse stops.

Then she does it again.

And again.

Clary is crying and trembling and everything in her body is laser focused on Maryse. She dreads when Maryse will touch her again and yearns for it just as much.

Maryse brushes at her tears and strokes her hair. “I can make you feel so good, Clary. I want to. Just give me something, anything I can take to the Inquisitor.”

“I can’t,” Clary sobs.

“Sure you can, baby,” Maryse murmurs in her ear. “You’ve done so well so far. Let me help you.”

It’s too much. Her body is balanced so precariously on the line between pleasure and pain she thinks she might go mad soon. Maryse’s hands and words are soothing when they’re not pushing her closer to the edge.

And … no one has ever wanted to help her before.

“The blood,” Clary chokes out. Maryse’s hand stop, then immediately resume stroking her hair.

“What about the blood?”

“Seelie blood,” Clary says. “With angelic properties to … to …”

“To get past the Institute’s wards,” Maryse finishes.

Clary nods, then sags in her chain, wrung out.

“Good girl,” Maryse says. She kisses Clary temple, her cheek, her chin. “Thank you so much, you’ve been such a good, brave girl.”

“Please,” Clary whispers. It’s all she has the energy for.

“I know, baby,” Maryse says. “I’m going to make you feel better now, okay?”

She sinks gracefully to her knees. Clary barely has the time to register the loss of her touch on her face before she’s pulling aside Clary’s panties and licking her clit.

“Ah!” Clary cries out. Maryse keeps her tongue directly on Clary’s clit, licking and sucking and Clary’s so on edge it takes no time at all before she comes. Her orgasm is powerful, intense, a great tidal wave of sensation that crashes over Clary with such force her vision blackens at the edges. And Maryse doesn’t stop. She keeps at Clary’s clit with her tongue and slips her fingers into Clary’s dripping cunt, fucking her with gentle but inexorable force. Clary doesn’t have chance to come down from her orgasm before it’s building back up again. It’s too much, but she can’t do anything about it, chained as she is, held open for Maryse’s relentless fingers and tongue.

She realizes she’s blabbering, a litany of _please please please oh raziel fuck please._

Maryse pulls back, just a couple inches, just enough to look up at her and say, “That’s it, there’s a good girl.” Then she leans back in and sucks hard at Clary’s clit while her fingers twist and that’s it. 

There’s a rush of blood in Clary’s ears and everything goes mercifully black.

* * *

Maryse catches the girl when she undoes the chains. 

Clary’s head rolls back, and her mouth falls open, but Maryse can hear a steady heartbeat. She’s fine, just overwhelmed. She carefully hooks her arms under Clary’s knees and makes sure her head is resting on Marye’s chest. 

It’s awkward to knock on the cell door while still holding Clary, but between her strength and agility rune, she manages it.

“Send word to the inquisitor,” she tells Underhill. “Tell her I got it. I’ll be with her directly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Underhill says. “And her?” He gestures to the girl.

Maryse looks down. Clary’s red hair is trailing over her arms and Maryse’s chest. The flush on her face is fading, but her lips are still red from being bitten and there’s a small smear of blood where she broke the skin. Maryse can still taste her.

“Put her in my room,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that eventually Maryse decides to hell with the Clave and to hell with Valentine and takes Clary and her children and their significant others and they all go into "hiding" and by "hiding" I mean they become some kind of badass accidental incredibly competent crime family somewhere.
> 
> Let me know if I missed a tag and I'll add it.


End file.
